


And oh, poor Atlas

by Craftnarok



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, a short conversation in the dark, but is set after the 'I have no story to tell' conversation in the 4x09 flashback, is that my trademark at this point?, this fits in between S3 and S4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftnarok/pseuds/Craftnarok
Summary: Flint still wants to know Silver's backstory. Silver still doesn't want to tell him.





	And oh, poor Atlas

They’re lying together, their faces close, surrounded by the deep grey of twilight and the murmurs of the camp beyond their room.

“But I love you,” James says, as if he holds a master key and he cannot fathom why it will not open this particular door.

“I know,” says John, “but loving me does not entitle you to my past. You have my present, and I intend for you have my future, but that is all I can give. Isn’t that enough? You’re one of only two people in the whole world who can lay claim to both of those things. It’s even more rare than having claimed a share of stolen Spanish gold.” He smiles, but James does not smile back. His brow remains creased in thought and John reaches up to run his thumb along the space between his eyebrows, smoothing the lines out.

“What exactly is it that you want to hear from me?” he says, when James remains silent. “Do you want me to dredge up every detail of every thing I’ve tried so hard to forget so that I can lay them out in front of you piece by piece? Do you want a list of names that would mean nothing to you, from which you could dream up a whole host of monstrous faces to rage at on my behalf? You have enough of your own. If for no reason other than selfishness, don’t add mine to your nightmares. I don’t want you to crawl inside my skin to try my suffering on for size instead.”

“You think I want to colonise your past and inhabit it to escape my own? That sounds awfully familiar,” James says. He isn’t offended. Bold words are naturally nocturnal; they thrive in the softness of the dark, their sharp edges rounded off.

“Touché,” says John, before he tries bolder words still. “I think you’ve grown so accustomed to the bitterness of grief that you’ve developed a taste for it. I think it’s comfortable and familiar, and I think you believe that swallowing mine will be the final consummation of our partnership, and we’ll be conjoined by tragedy. Or perhaps it’s a sin-eater that you want to be, unburdening me of past wrongs and shouldering them along with yours, like some kind of Atlas made Christ.”

“I think that might be blasphemy. Do you really think me that arrogant?” Of all the judgements that had stung in his life, ‘arrogant’ was the one that had done the least harm.

John shakes his head. “Just a creature of habit, in some ways. I think swaddling yourself in the rawest of feelings is habitual.”

“As avoiding them can be.”

John knows one fine eyebrow is raised, even if he can barely see it.

“Perhaps I’m just curious,” says James. “Did you think of that? Not all motives are ulterior, you know. Not even mine.” He’s teasing, despite it all. The dark is made for that too.

“Perhaps, but you know what curiosity did to the cat. Let it be.”

The sounds of the camp wash over them, pooling in the space between them. The night is a haven for all sorts of things, but some truths are buried so deep that even the darkness cannot reach them.


End file.
